Losing My Religion
by denverhockeygirl
Summary: Bombay is convicted of a crime he pleas innocent to. His accusor? A former Duck. A collection of one shots from individual characters. [Bombay, Charlie, Julie and Connie] [complete]
1. Yesterday's Headlines

**Losing My Religion**

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**Author's Note**: Handbook is still an ever progressing work but between the discussion on the Yahoo board and the trial that a good friend of mine is currently under going, I've decided to take a stab at a "pedophile" fic. It originally started off as an idea for a one shot, yet as I contemplated the idea more, I decided I needed more. This first chapter will be extremely short as I just begin to explore the plot and ways to approach it. This is roughly based of true events, even more so if I decide to take the root of innocence.

If you read this when I first posted, sorry, somehow the last part didn't save and wasn't uploaded.

This fic is dedicated above all to David "Cubby" Hillenburg, who's fighting a loosing battle he doesn't need to be in. Thanks for always being there, thanks for the climbing and skiing trips and frosties and Prijon stickers. Thanks for your time and dedication for us, for your love. You were and are always there regardless of what kind of harm it put you in.

And happy first night of Chanukah to you all!

**Disclaimer: **The title of this belongs to REM. I've been a major REM binger for the last few months or so. The chapter title belongs to the band Good Riddance. Disney owns the Ducks.

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**Chapter One: **Yesterday's Headlines

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The candle burns the edges fray  
Our best intentions waste away  
And everybody loves the things you've done  
And on and on and on

Life appears weightless  
For everyone but me  
This world grows heavier everyday  
Deterioration  
Growing old before my time  
Nobody cares never mind

We all prey on our vain condition  
And the hopelessness of it all  
These days there's nothing  
We can trust

The dreams we made we've seen them face  
Trampled by out sad parade  
Still we're so pleased with what we've done  
And on and on and I'm done

The mind breaks down when it dies  
Our machines doubled in size  
To orchestrate the grand collapse  
I see us all trapped in its path  
There was a time we were unbound  
As if we'd never hit the ground  
But just like rain we can't keep from falling****

_**Yesterday's Headlines **Good Riddance_

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"How could she betray me like that?" The middle aged brunette finally was able to whisper, however hoarsely to himself. Tears that had just begun to mist his eyes and blur his vision minutes ago were now flowing freely down his cheeks, sinking through crevasses to the dry cracks of his lips, salty with infidelity.

As he realized the presence of the drops, he hadn't the energy to wipe them, only enough to question his own stability. He was a forty-seven year old man, a professional lawyer, prestige in the world of hockey, crying. Crying like a little girl.

Mind you he knew his career in hockey was no longer existent. Who would want to associate with a branded pervert, an abuser of power, a threat to the innocence of society. And without a doubt, he'd never be allowed to step foot into the field of youth hockey again.

The only crime he has committed is caring. He wouldn't have any problems if he had avoided his the team, had run them through hockey drills and went home at the end of the day, like he had at first. But as time went on, he didn't. He taught them new games, teamwork, brought them on trips, was there to talk after practice ended, and was there to listen.

She had been so innocent yet so hardened when he first met her. A little girl who had seen hardships far beyond her age. He had given her an escape for that. Her mother was an alcoholic and her father had been driven out by threats of jail time when she was seven, as he was known for ferociously beating his wife. In between her and her three brothers, money was pinched thin. So he'd given extra time devoted to her, so she would have someone to share her woes and troubles to, someone to divulge her dreams with. Someone who'd give her rides to practice and blare the radio and sing along with. When she couldn't afford new gloves when the palms had disappeared making them illegal for play, he got her a new pair and dubbed them an early birthday present.

Eventually she started to grow up, becoming more social with her peers. Her life began to stabilize and she no longer needed Gordon's massive amount of caring, that he was no longer able to provide. He still always had time for her, yet not as much, for his new job required more hours. The bond they had formed, best friends ignoring the age difference, a paternal figure, slowly began to fade away. And as the strong relationship began to weaken, suspicions arose and fingers began to be pointed. The rumours had slowly begun to surface.

Somewhere between then and now a hideous string of events unearthed, entangling everything in their path. He couldn't decipher what had happened or why, it was too bewildering, a puzzle that held an answer he wasn't sure he wanted. The day had drained him, the court appearance too much to muse, an event he didn't want to remember.

Yet at the same time the future held no condolence, it was just as cruel and dark as the past month. As unpredictable and chaotic as a bad horror movie. And he could do nothing to prevent it all from crashing down on him permanently.

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	2. Failure By Design

**Losing My Religion**

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**Author's Note**: Sorry I haven't updated in close to a month. I've had awful writer's block and when I was at my dad's at Vail I realized I couldn't upload from his computer if I had wanted to. I just got home from an Avs game and wanted to do some History before I went to bed exhausted, but decided I needed to write. Just for the sake of writing. This will be short, sorry, yet I need to post something to get me back in routine.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Tis a shame eh? And once again this story is dedicated to "CP's" or as they refer to themselves as "Hoods in the Woods" and the "KP Kayak Pride". Brand New owns the song and chapter title.

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**Chapter Two: **Failure By Design

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Watch you, on the one's and two's.  
Through a window in a well lit room.  
Become a recluse.  
And I blame myself cause I make things hard and your just trying to help.  
And when I wake up, your the first to call.  
This is one more late night basement song.  
And I'm so sore, my voice has gone to hell, and this is one more sleepless  
night,

Because we don't believe in filler baby.  
If I could I'd sit this out.

(This is over when I say it's over.)  
This is a lesson in procrastination.  
I kill myself because I'm so frustrated.  
And every single second that I put it off, means another lonely night I got  
to race the clock.  
(I ignore it and it ignores me too.)  
What say we go and crash your car?  
And every time I leave you go and lock the door.  
So I walk myself picking at a chip on my shoulder, I'm another day late and  
one year older.  
it's failure by design.

And we just want sleep, but this night is hell.  
I'm sick and sunk and I blame myself because I make things hard and your  
just trying to help.  
I got no gas,I'm winding out my gears.  
This is one more day on the verge of tears.  
And now my head hurts and my health is a joke.  
And now I got to stop cause the headphones broke.

And we don't believe in filler.  
Baby, if I could I'd sit this out.  
(This is over, when I say it's over.)  
This is a lesson in procrastination.  
I kill myself because I'm so frustrated.  
And every single second that I put it off, means another lonely night I  
gotta race the clock.  
(I ignore it and it ignores me too)  
What say we go and crash your car?  
And every time I leave you go and lock the door.  
And I walk myself picking at a chip on my shoulder.  
I'm another day late and one year older, it's failure by design.

I'm out of everything.  
No one sleeps until we get this shit out on the shelves.  
It's late, I'm faltering.

_**Failure by Design **Brand New_

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Charlie gazed incoherently at the interwoven colours of his bedding, unable to focus on anything. His blood pulsated through his temples, sending a rage of fog through his brain, his thoughts murky. His body was fatigued without having moved, his throat knotted in frustration, eyes burning with reality. The only real feeling he could salvage from the wreckage of his musings was anger. The type of rage that was irrational was directed towards anyone and anything, unable to be eloquently justified. The kind that would send you on an emotionally charged fit of hysteria and destruction if it hadn't already drained you of emotional and physical energy.

He couldn't bring himself to cry, he saw no reason to. If anything it was a dull sense of denial that had wounded him. Stabbed him in a critical area he was too blind to acknowledge. Oh how that wonderful cliché, 'You don't know what you're missing until its gone' fit so well. Too well. Enough to give him the idea of beating whoever had first placed it into common English idiomatic use into a bloody pulp. Yet it was only an idea, for he knew if he attempted to stand up, his muscles, weakened by thought, would collapse.

The situation didn't make sense to him.

Why would she even contemplate the accusation?

What had he ever done to deserve this kind of rebuttal?

Did she ever even ponder the consequences of her actions, how it would come to affect those who had become the next closest thing to family?

Obviously not.

Which then logically led him to the conclusion that females were nothing more than raging hormones combined with backstabbing foul intentions. To play it out simply, whores, sluts, skanks. Untrusting bitches. Estrogen was a tainted substance, not to be toyed with nor touched. It was acidic poisoning on trusting souls.

One may first pass judgment on his rationalizations as unjust and charged only by anger and mal tended emotion. He cared to differ with them, threatening anyone ravishly with a hockey stick that came within a ten-foot radius to speak to him. Irrational? Him? Of course not.

He was the only sensible one left in society. The only one capable of distinguishing fact from lies, tossing aside preconceived notions of innocence based on tangible aspects of a person. The only one who was able define the meaning of justice and hope for it to be played.

And seemingly the only one there who believed in the truth. The only one who refused to turn his back and point fingers for the hell of it. The one who wouldn't sink down into a murky level of wishy-washiness when a controversy sprung. The only one who was stand tall in support of true goodness, and refuse to watch a man who had done nothing other than care, take a fatal fall alone.

Yet it was so hard to stand for someone who you couldn't contact because of the law. The law that protected liars and cheats from all that was first class.

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	3. Dead End Road

**Losing My Religion**

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**Author's Note**: Sorry if this has been hard to follow. I'm written sporadically and included only emotions in really short (the chapters won't be too long, only one scene as of now, with one point of view, which varies by chapter) unorganized doses. A stronger plot line should be developed in this chapter. Charlie's not the one being accused, don't be confused ;-) I'm hoping this will start to become clearer. And all the sudden song lyrics? Really not relevant. At all.

**Disclaimer**: Ducks go to Disney and the newspaper article (with different information) was originally run in the June 6, 2002 edition of the Denver Post. As soon as this situation ends, I swear I'll come kayaking with you Cubby.

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**Chapter Three: **Dead End Road

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I thought that you were joking  
When you said you couldn't breathe  
You said you couldn't breathe  
Turns out that you were choking  
On a town you couldn't leave  
You knew you'd never leave  
It met your disapproval at the age of 8 years old  
You were only 8 years old  
From then on there was no removal  
From that one way dead end road  
That one way dead end road

I thought that you were laughing  
When you cried your eyeballs out  
You cried your eyeballs out  
And I don't mean to be prying  
But what were you so sad about  
What are you still sad about  
Met your disappointment at the age of 9 years old  
You were only 9 years old  
From then on there would be no ointment  
To take away these burns  
To make that pain grow dull and forever ain't that long  
When your smile's stuck in your head like a pop song  
All you think about is death  
Your dirty head has gone unswept for way too long now  
For way too long now

I thought that you were sleeping  
When I found you there in bed  
I found you there in bed  
When I touched you you were freezing  
It turned out that you were dead  
It turned out that you were dead  
It met your disapproval at the age of 8 years old  
You were only 8 years old  
From then on there was no removal  
From your fucked up head and your broken home and forever ain't that long  
When your smile's stuck in your head like a pop song  
All you think about is death  
Your dirty head has gone unswept for way too long now  
For way too long now

_**Dead End Road **Alkaline Trio_

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Julie ran her hand shakily through her dirty blonde hair, stomach overwhelmed with nothing short of nausea as she rambled on with her early morning routine. The cranberry juice that she had been drinking tasted acidic and foul in her mouth. The sudden rush of blood to her brain made her vision blurry, enunciated by the trembling hands that held the paper. She couldn't quite comprehend what she felt, as though a water balloon verging on ice had exploded in her gut, sending a flush of biting cold through her veins. Gnawing on her lip, she began to read the article.

_**Youth hockey coach accused of sex assault- Girl says relationship began when she was 12** _

_John Ingold Minneapolis Star Tribune Staff Writer _

_January 6, 1997 _

_A Minneapolis youth hockey coach was arrested Tuesday for allegedly having a sexual relationship with a player that started when the girl was 12. _

_Gordon Robert Bombay, 44 - a defense attorney and current St. Paul Mounds View youth hockey coach, who once led Team USA to a gold at the Junior Goodwill Games - was hauled away from Biff Adams Arena in handcuffs after police learned of the relationship, which allegedly began five years ago. _

_He was interrogated, booked on one count of sexual assault on a child by a person in a position of... _

Unable to continue, she tossed the paper beside her to the floor, knowing the noise wouldn't wake her roommate, who once she was unconscious remained that way until a godly force intervened. She gazed to the other side of the room, and looked at the sleeping brunette who was entangled in a web of sheets and blankets. There she looked so innocent, like a normal 17 year old girl, attempting to sleep away her weekend.

The idea that the man she once trusted with her life, had laid his hands on her made the goalie ill. The slightest thought of his old, grimy hands corrupting and groping away her innocence made her stomach contents churn and begin to climb her esophagus. Ever since Connie had finally broken down about the ordeal, which had begun before Julie knew of her existence.

She couldn't quite comprehend how a man who had such charisma, such charm and heart would even contemplate touching a pre-pubescent girl. Nor did she truly want to know. Looking back on things, she had begun to wonder why she hadn't come forward earlier. Hadn't been able to pick on the subtly blatant clues. The ability he had to pick you up when you were down and vulnerable, giving you the euphoria that there was someone who truly cared, then create a close, tight bond. She'd never thought anything of the closeness Bombay had established with the group, mostly out of naïve ignorance.

Luckily by seeing the reverberations of his actions first hand through means of Connie, she was able to crack the shell of denial that still surrounded so many, break away and see him for what he truly was. Slowly the Ducks were beginning to join the rest of the community in a firm stance against his antagonizing, some more tentatively than others. Averman, Goldberg, and Fulton hadn't said too much either way, for they probably still had some doubts about the situation. The only one who seemed to vocally side against Connie was Charlie. Julie was spread between sympathizing with him, she'd never seen such a strong hockey player collapse like he had, or bitch slap him, having heard some of his choice comments about her friend, the victim of the situation. Word had it that Bombay had tried his hand with him as well, the two appeared to be even closer than Connie had been, which cast him thick into denial. It wouldn't have surprised Julie right now either that her former coach swung both ways below him.

The only concept she was able to grasp was that he was a twisted bastard. A pedophile who got off on kids a third of his age. A pervert who came into a position of power, where his players respected and adored him and used their trust to gain for his own immoral pleasure.

A sick menace to society that belonged behind bars, with innocents far from his grasp, she thought as she wearily stood up and walked toward the door, casting one last sympathizing gaze at her friend.

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	4. Fistful of Sand

**Losing My Religion**

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**Author's Note**: Sorry I haven't updated this in awhile. I wrote the first 3 chapters in a very sporadic sense and was unsure how I could smoothly continue the plot. Cub's trial was supposed to be on Friday but was bumped back to this week, thus I have this subject on my mind again… I'm not a religious person but I think I'm going to have to resort to praying because I have this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that something isn't going to go right. So I've resorted to a lot of praying.

Sorry these chapters aren't very long. I have nights where I force myself to post to break writer's block while at the same time promising myself I'll go to bed early. Dilemma, dilemma. This itsy piece is dedicated to my poor dying puppy and of course C-Diddy.

**Disclaimer**: Ducks go to Disney and the newspaper article (with different information) was originally run in the June 6, 2002 edition of the Denver Post. As soon as this situation ends, I swear I'll come kayaking with you Cubby.

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(Ji-Hi) As always you're my muse. It's difficult to get me to write without bugging you online for a couple hours. Thanks for putting up with me.

(Meme-Ann) Thanks.

(Kshyne9) Ha ha thanks. Reality is a big peeve of mine in stories, so much so I usually abandon any Disney like aspects. You've probably figured out who the girl is, but do read on!

(The Artist Formerly Known as Q) Bombay always somewhat reminded me of my friend Cub (minus the beginnings as a dick) so when someone brought up the idea I couldn't help but feel the need to write this. Thanks for the comments, I feel honoured to have you reading and reviewing. Such a dork I know. You made an excellent point, I need to start having the characters do something besides thinking. When I've been writing this, I haven't been in the best state of mind, but I'll definitely work on that.

(Super-Steph) Thank you.

(Canadian-Hockey-Girl) Each chapter has changed viewpoints. First Bombay then Charlie then Julie. It's just to ease my spontaneous mind and to give a sense of how different people feel. I desperately want to go to Whistler. I have friends and family in Vancouver.

(CakeEater'sGirly99) Thanks for the compliments :blushes: It's great to know people enjoy your work. As far as Bombay, watch you, you might pick up on something ;-)

(Padfoots-Pirate) Screw you, cranberry juice is the shiz. Only juice I really like. Ha ha I remembered how to get to your house, I haven't smoked myself stupid.

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**Chapter Four: **Fistful of Sand

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Up from the sands of the mighty Sahara comes,  
Our hero bold, who so it's told,  
is a lot like you and me.  
His passion burns, the world it turns,  
He fills his hand to fill the void,  
And fuels the constant feeling,  
Of nothingness inside his soul.

Feels like nothing ever did.  
Kills like nothing ever could.  
Dark and jaded world I hated,  
Everything I left behind.  
I don't need you, and I don't want you,  
World that left me blind.

Beneath the sands of the mighty Sahara lies,  
Buried treasure sunken deep,  
in darkened tombs where dead men sleep.  
Gold fills hands, or is it sand,  
The same that covers everything?  
Where cities stood, soon deserts found,  
Now sink beneath the swelling ground.

Feels like nothing ever did.  
Kills like nothing ever could.  
Dark and jaded world I hated,  
Everything I left behind.  
I don't need you, and I don't want you,  
World that left me blind.

This world is for the taking,  
This world is suffocating.  
Plastic bags of Novocain,  
Some PCP to kill the pain.  
Build a tomb to store your rust,  
Moth-eaten piles of blowing dust.

Under the sands of the mighty Sahara,  
Goes our hero bold, in search of gold,  
a casket for a dying world.  
Our hero stands, wealth in hand,  
The prize for his endeavors.  
The masses cheer, to hide their fears  
That no man lives forever.

Feels like nothing ever did.  
Kills like nothing ever could.  
Dark and jaded world I hated,  
Everything I left behind.  
I don't need you, and I don't want you,  
World that left me blind.

_**Fistful of Sand **Five Iron Frenzy_

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"Bombay is such a perv," Averman rolled his eyes tightening his skates. "I just hope he gets what he deserves in his trial tomorrow."

"I don't know why they let someone like that with kids," Dwayne chimed in from across the locker room, half a dozen heads nodding in agreement. In the weeks since the allegations had become public a state of frenzied accusation had fallen over the Ducks.

"I just feel so bad for Connie you know," Greg stated, voice muffled from pulling his shoulder pads over his face. "Having to have gone through this for so long. I say we castrate him."

"Yeah!" Guy cheered, followed in suit by a couple more voices.

"How about you guys just shut the fuck up," a disgruntled voice spat as the door opened. Charlie stormed through the room and threw his bag into the corner. "You traitors, little backstabbing cunts."

"Nice Conway, real nice," Fulton growled. "Is Bombay caressing you in the right spots too to keep quiet? Buying you off so he can keep your ass to his self?" The sharp comment sent an eerie hush over the room, the only sound was the sharp breaths of their angered captain.

"So this is how you repay him? Everything he did for us, all those times he saved our asses. You guys are pathetic, whipped by that sick little slut. We'd all be pathetic burnouts still living in the ghetto. I mean Fult if it weren't for Bombay you'd still be living with your pathetic drug-dealing whore of a mom. One of her boyfriends probably would have beat you to death by now," his usually sturdy voice powered by short raspy breaths.

"Connie is not a slut," Guy rose to his feet, face flushed.

"Yes she is," Charlie narrowed his eyes stepping towards his teammate. "Her and her pathetic pity me, pity me I think I'm so damn sexy that everyone wants me, so I'll destroy the life of someone who cared for me because I'm an idiot scumbag." Within a split second Guy had lunged onto Conway, attempting to take him onto the floor. Using his leverage the brunette flipped the smaller boy into a headlock taking a swing at his face. Instinctively Portman and Fulton darted off the bench each pushing on one side of their captain's shoulder unintentionally forcing him to the ground face first on top of Guy. Charlie was no match for Fulton or Portman, let alone together, allowing the Bash Brother to come to his feet and lift Charlie off the floor. Guy scrambled to his feet, scowling and limping back over to his bag. Portman let go of the flurried boy who slumped to the floor, kicking his limp figure. The bustle of cheers and rants came to dead hush as soon as it had begun. Slowly Charlie wobbled to his feet, head down, brown curls flooding his face. Silently he staggered out of the room without a second word or look at anyone, and not even the slamming of the door could break the silence.

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"Um… Connie, how are you feeling?" Julie tried to emphasize while tying her skates. The brunette paused and sighed, burying her head into her hands.

"I don't know really… this last month has just been really stressful," she sighed biting her lip.

"I'm really sorry sweetie… you do know if you ever need to talk to me, I'm always here. I'll never abandon you or hurt you," she soothed softly. Connie slowly raised her head wiping her eyes as though she was choking back tears.

"Honestly? I've just been so afraid, you know that Guy will leave me, that he'll come back and hur- I mean…" she stuttered off her face flushed.

"He'll what? Con, did that jackass threaten you?"

"No… I mean, just forget about it okay. It's not a big deal," she shrugged returning to lacing up her skates.

"Connie, he can't hurt you if you tell us. It's not fair that you have to go through this," Julie quivered, horrified by the mere thought of her friend having had to go through this. "I hate to see you suffer, it hurts so much. It hurts all of us, we care so much about you…"

"Charlie thinks I'm a slut," she trembled, voice hoarse.

"He's just in shock having been so close with him. He's in denial. Don't listen to him, he's loosing his mind. I know he hates to see this going on, he doesn't want to think you've gotten hurt," the blonde sighed. There was an awkward pause before Connie burst into tears.

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	5. A Moment of Silence

**Losing My Religion**

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**Author's Note**: It's been almost three years since I've touched this fic and since then I seem to have abandoned the Mighty Ducks fandom. However I'm back on my account and can't stand the idea of having a story unfinished.

Originally I was waiting for Cub's trial to come through and base the outcome on that but a lot of things changed and it got postponed for a few years until it finally concluded, justice being left un-served.

Just letting everyone know I've changed a lot as a writer so this has changed directions. This was supposed to be more of a story but it's evolved into a series of one shots of character exploration as they handle the situation..

**Disclaimer: **The title of this belongs to REM. The chapter title belongs to the band Streetlight Manifesto. Disney owns the Ducks.

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**Chapter Five: **A Moment of Silence

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A moment of silence, please, for those who never get the chance  
They show up to the party, but they're never asked to dance  
The losers, the liars, the bastards, the thieves  
The cynicists, the pessimists, and those that don't believe in nothing

I never met a loser that I didn't see eye-to-eye with, I declare  
I stare into your eyes  
But you look right past me into the air  
What's it like to stand in your shoes?  
To have never felt the belt of somebody's abuse?  
I take the bottle and I tip it to all my heroes that have passed  
Alas, you have left us, but your stories they will last  
Uninspired by the recruiting call  
Independent we stand  
Independent we fall

So tell me: how long do you think you can go before you lose it all?  
Before they call you bluff and watch you fall?  
I don't know, but I'd like to think I had control  
At some point, but I let it go and lost my soul  
Sit tight, but the revolution's years away  
I'm losing faith and I'm running low on things to say  
So, I guess I have no choice but to regurgitate  
The tired anthem of a loser and a hypocrite  
Oh! To have died that night, I realized it wouldn't last  
Our days were numbered and the reaper tipped the hourglass  
The final mayday of our sinking ship had come and passed  
Oh! To the west, you don't know what it is you're running from  
And everybody's laughing loud  
Your last chance to make your mother and your father proud

_**A Moment of Silence **Streetlight Manifesto_

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Bombay sat in the disconcertingly familiar hard chair behind the defense table in the courtroom of Minnesota's 10th Judicial District. It wasn't an alien place for him to be. For the past 15 years he'd waken up in the morning and donned his best suit and tie and driven the familiar route from St. Paul. For 15 years he'd walked up the front steps of this very courthouse. For the past 15 years he'd tried cases in this very room from behind this very desk. Yet it wasn't a proverbial situation. He'd never sat in the chair closest to the wall, the seat for the defense and not the defense attorney. The very thought of it brought a wave of nausea over him.

He slowly turned his head. The side for the prosecution was still empty, the district attorney had yet to arrive. But behind that the courtroom was packed. Without looking like he was staring too hard, he caught glimpse of a group of familiar faces. A group that once looked at him with respect and leadership all now shot him venomous gazes and they, out of support, surrounded up around their teammate.

The girl that he had cared for like a daughter sat in the middle of them. Her dark hair was down around her face like a veil, hiding it from those around her. Her teammates thought she hid in fear, Gordon knew she hid from guilt.

He turned his head again, partially knowing that gawking at his accuser wasn't going to help his case but mostly out of the betrayal that socked him in the stomach when he saw the Ducks. All but one…

He gazed slowly over his left shoulder. Towards the back, behind him, a moppy brunette sat with a curly redhead.

The Conways.

Then his captain flashed him a sympathetic smile. Maybe all hope wasn't lost…

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Charlie was beginning to think that the case was lost as he fell into his mother's shoulder out of frustration. The tall blonde District Attorney was calling witness after witness, reading journal entry after journal entry and showed no sign of stopping. She had already called on Connie who put on such a sugar coated melodramatic act, Charlie had to run out of the room, making it to the gold rimmed trash can just in time to collapse on his knees vomiting. He then slammed his hand into the marble walls and it had now started to turn black and purple. When he finally mustered the stomach to come back into the room he was the only one who wasn't crying out of pity, rather out of disgust.

…"_And Miss Moreau, what exactly did the defendant do to you when he asked you to visit his apartment?" The woman asked, her voice cool and detached._

_Connie bit her lip and looked at the floor, tears running down her face. "H-he grabbed me around the waist… pulled me into his bedroom… and k-kissed me," she sobbed…_

He was the only Duck who came to support Bombay. He bit his lip. The only former Duck. The Ducks weren't an entity anymore. The tension on the team in the past few months got exploded. They finished the season in last place. Fulton had dropped out of Eden Hall and was finishing the year at Maple Grove Senior High, the rundown excuse for an educational institution in the original D5 neighbourhood. They still hung out from time to time and shot pucks into trashcans in the alley behind Mickey's. But that was it. Charlie had been voted off as captain and after one particular fight in the locker room that left him with a broken nose and Guy with five stitches under his eye, Orion had offered him the chance to transfer to Chapel Hill Academy in Eden Prairie. He could still play hockey and put the past behind him. He readily took the offer, not having an ounce of respect for his former teammates and frankly, not wanting to see any of them again.

That bitch had ruined everything. She had broken up friends, ruined Bombay's life and most of all destroyed the Ducks. She had a can of gas and a pack of matches and torched everything. He began to feel nauseous again.

He hated her.

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"Have the ladies and gentlemen of the jury reached a verdict?" the sharp, aging man asked.

"Yes your honour," a middle aged black woman responded.

Connie held her breath. She wasn't sure how she wound up here. Wound up in this courtroom. Everything had been a blur, the disintegration of the Ducks, the constant interviews by lawyers, the outpour of support by most of her friends.

It was his fault. She wouldn't have had to do this if he hadn't pulled away. If he hadn't abandoned her. It was unfortunate but it had to come down to this.

"And how do you find the defendant?"

"On the first count, Criminal Sexual Conduct in the First Degree, we find the defendant," she paused. "Guilty." An eerie murmur came over the room. She inhaled deeply. "On the second charge, sexual assault on a child by a person in a position of power, we also find the defendant guilty."

"Thank you madam foreman," the judge began to speak. Connie ignored her and looked over at her former coach who had buried his face into his hands. A small smile came to her face.

He deserved it.

--------


End file.
